


the heat of the moment

by mixtapestar



Series: omg they were roommates [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: The heat goes out in Quentin and Eliot's apartment.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: omg they were roommates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986943
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	the heat of the moment

**Author's Note:**

> For Comfortween Day 26: Too Cold! (warming someone up).
> 
> Continued from the wisdom teeth story - scroll up for the previous work in 'omg they were roomates'! <3
> 
> Thanks Rubi, this one's for you, since it has a few of your requests. Even if you did sneak a new one in while reading through this one. ;)

It's been a week since Eliot had his wisdom teeth surgery, and Quentin is going insane. It's his own damn fault, spouting how he wanted to take things slow with Eliot within an hour of their first kiss. He'd been worried about Eliot's stitches at the time, and maybe a little about the repercussions of fucking his roommate senseless, but now it's been a week of lingering looks and charged conversation, and he's getting tired of masturbating in the shower.

When he stumbles out of his room at an ungodly hour of the morning, he's surprised to find Eliot not only awake, but making breakfast. "God, that smells good," Quentin says, stretching as he enters the kitchen. He catches Eliot eyeing his exposed midriff before he lowers his arms. He steps up to Eliot's side to see the eggs simmering on the stovetop and the bacon on the griddle. "Can you even have bacon?"

"Not yet," Eliot says, turning and pressing a kiss to Quentin's temple before he even knows what's happening. "I'll have to stick to eggs. The bacon is for you."

Quentin hums happily and presses a kiss to the base of Eliot's jaw. "What's the occasion?"

Eliot shrugs, flipping the strips of bacon over methodically. "I still can't eat a normal meal, so I can't take you out. I know you have office hours today, so I thought I could at least make _you_ a meal instead."

Quentin feels a rush of warmth. For as long as he's wanted it, he still doesn't think he's prepared for the full attention that comes with being Eliot's boyfriend. "That… sounds amazing, El. Thank you."

Eliot smiles. "Go ahead and sit. Breakfast will be served momentarily."

So Quentin does, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and checking the weather on his phone. Record low temperatures are expected today, with a cold front coming down from Canada. He dreads the subway ride to work, trying to remember if he cleaned his heavy coat after the incident with the mud. "It's gonna be fucking cold," he says out loud, suddenly remembering he's not in the midst of his usual quiet wakeup routine. "Can I borrow your coat? I'm pretty sure my good one is a mess."

Eliot sets a plate in front of him, full of eggs, bacon, toast, and even some fruit that Quentin can't remember them buying. His stomach growls in anticipation. Eliot's voice is a rumble in his ear, "You just want to pull the long sleeves over your hands." Quentin laughs and doesn't deny it. "Sure, I'll be staying in today anyway. Help yourself."

The coat smells like Eliot, and Quentin spends the majority of the subway ride huddled into it—with, yes, the sleeves pulled down over his hands. He almost hates to take it off when he arrives at his office.

Later, while he's in the middle of helping a student, he feels the buzz of a text against his thigh and ignores it. When it buzzes its reminder two minutes later, he thinks about checking it, but doesn't want to be rude. He forgets all about it until the student leaves, twenty minutes later.

 _the heat is out_ , reads the text from Eliot.

 _well fuck_ , he sends back, noticing Eliot is typing.

 _just got off the phone with the landlord. he's sending someone over to take a look but says it'll be a few hours_.

 _sorry for taking your big coat_ , Quentin replies, feeling guilty. _want me to cut out early?_

_I'd love that, but not because of the coat. no don't worry, I'll be fine._

Quentin smiles and slips his phone back in his pocket.

He thinks about calling Eliot over lunch, just to hear the sound of his voice. But the repair person is probably already there, and Eliot might need to focus on that. Even if he's there alone, he's probably cursing Quentin for being at work where the heat is running on full blast.

When things slow down, about half an hour before Quentin can head out, he gets another update from Eliot.

_heat pump is out. something about our emergency heat setting, I didn't exactly follow it. whatever it is, they can't repair it until later this week._

Quentin shivers preemptively. _I don't suppose this means they've relaxed their stance on space heaters?_

_nope, I asked. apparently only some of the apartments were affected. we're one of the lucky few._

Quentin sighs as he types out his response. _great, I love winning when the prize is shitty._

 _I'd have been happy just to be nominated_. Quentin snickers. Another reply from Eliot comes shortly, _it's not too bad so far. I think our neighbors' heat is still working. maybe we'll be alright mooching off of them._

Quentin sends the fingers crossed emoji before shifting his focus to getting his work done so he can head home.

Walking into the apartment later is still a pleasant shift from the harsh chill of outside, and he hurries to close the door behind him. He finds Eliot on the couch, a blanket draped over his shoulders and fingerless gloves covering his hands where he's typing frantically on his laptop.

"You look busy," Quentin observes as he hangs up Eliot's coat.

"Margo is trying to suggest I end my vacation early. Apparently my clients miss me."

Quentin drops down next to him on the couch, leaning onto his shoulder. "I don't blame them, really. Going back to the office would mean industrial strength heating."

"Yeah, but you're off tomorrow," Eliot says, and Quentin's heart stutters at the implication. "They can deal with a proxy for one more day."

"How's your mouth feeling today?"

"Sore, but definitely better. I think it's finally starting to heal up."

"Good," Quentin says, staring straight ahead and pretending that he's not visualizing kissing Eliot—really, _properly_ kissing him, climbing into his lap and licking his way inside his mouth. He lets his mind wander like that while Eliot types, until he starts to feel a bit too cold for comfort. 

After he changes into a warm, comfy sweater and his winter pajama pants, he rejoins Eliot on the couch, casting an episode of Stargate SG-1 on the TV while Eliot chats with Margo.

They have soup for dinner, Eliot eating it slowly, working his way around the chicken. The broth does help warm them up, with the apartment just starting to feel more uncomfortable than not.

Eliot holds a napkin up to his mouth, spitting something out that he can't eat. " _God_ , I'll be so happy when I can actually have meat again."

"Me too," Quentin says before he can think better of it. As heat rushes to his face, Eliot laughs delightedly. "I just meant—ah fuck, nevermind," he says, laughing along with Eliot.

"Don't worry, when I feel safe putting bigger things in my mouth, you'll be the first to know." Quentin throws his napkin at him. He doesn't dare follow that train of thought.

He spends the evening reading, switching positions on the couch every fifteen minutes or so. He always manages to stay touching Eliot in some way, sometimes with his feet in his lap, or leaning against him, or—for two memorable minutes until it hurts his arms to hold the book up—with his head in his lap, Eliot's fingers going automatically to his hair. Quentin sets the book down and just lays like that for a while, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling. It's so goddamn nice to get to enjoy this, to not have to make an excuse and dart into his room at the first reminder of his feelings for Eliot.

When Eliot says something about going to bed, Quentin watches him stand and shiver a bit, and an idea starts to form in his head. He sticks a finger in his book and says, "You— you should share with me. If you want. We can keep each other warm." He blushes, hearing his own voice. It sounds like a ridiculous come on. Maybe it kind of _is_ , but it's also _true_. They'll stay warmer together.

Eliot doesn't make fun of him. His smile is genuine when he replies, "I'd love to keep you warm."

Quentin sets his book aside and takes a few minutes to gather all the blankets from around the house and drop them in his bedroom. He slips into the bathroom to change into warm pajamas, and when he returns, Eliot is spreading his comforter on top of Quentin's on the bed.

He slips under the covers while Eliot is off doing whatever nightly ritual he has to do for his teeth. He feels inexplicably nervous. Was this a bad idea? Should he try to cuddle with Eliot? Or would it be better to pretend to already be asleep, so Eliot can join him and they don't have to _talk_ about any of it?

That last one goes out the moment Eliot walks in, while Quentin is still staring at the ceiling overthinking everything. His pajamas look new, creases in them like they've been folded for a while. Quentin realizes he's seen him in loungewear around the apartment, on occasion, but never really pajamas. Is it possible Eliot normally sleeps in his underwear? Or in the nude?

He mentally shakes himself out of it while Eliot slips in beside him and turns off the lamp. That way of thinking lies madness. "I've been sleeping on my back, mostly," Eliot says, tilting his head toward Quentin on the pillow. He gestures toward his mouth. "Something about blood flow and how it helps with the healing." Quentin nods. Maybe this is Eliot's way of telling him to keep his distance? But Eliot is staring at him like he's waiting for something. "So you'll kind of have to come to me."

"Oh," Quentin says, feeling ridiculous. He scoots closer, taking his pillow with him. Suddenly all of his limbs feel new to him, awkward and bony and just _in the way_. Maybe human bodies weren't meant to be close to each other.

"Relax," Eliot says, pulling Quentin's arm over his chest and nudging a leg between Quentin's to guide one forward, and suddenly they're pleasantly tangled. Quentin breathes out and feels his body sink comfortably into the position.

"This is nice," he says inanely, and Eliot hums in agreement. His eyes are already closed.

"G'night, Q."

"Night, El," he parrots back, closing his eyes. His mind drifts for a while, on the edge of sleep and back again as he worries about what he might do in his sleep, but then Eliot starts snoring softly, and suddenly sleep comes easier.

***

Quentin wakes up early, his body clock betraying him, and other than the exposed shell of his ear, he's uncomfortably warm all over. Eliot murmurs in his sleep, his leg shiftly slightly against Quentin's, and a pulse of heat washes through Quentin, drawing sweat on his brow. He toes off his socks, and wriggles a bit until he can push his way out of his pajama pants, leaving him in his boxers and t-shirt. He already feels better by the time he kicks those out onto the floor.

"Mm, are we getting naked already?" Eliot asks, peering at him through half-lidded eyes.

"I got hot," Quentin whispers back with a hint of apology in his voice. "It's fine, go back to sleep."

"No, you've got the right idea," Eliot says, rolling away to pull off his shirt and then shimmy a bit under the covers until his own pajama pants get pitched over the side. Quentin ditches his shirt as well, and when Eliot rolls back, he feels the pleasant sensation of skin on skin.

Eliot isn't shy with his hand, running it over the expanse of Quentin's back a few times before resting with his fingers just under the band of Quentin's boxers. Quentin feels a thrill at his touch, but he's also tired, and they have the whole day in front of them. Instead of dwelling on it, he thinks back to his latest dream and wills himself back to sleep.

Quentin wakes up hard. It's really no surprise, being practically on top of Eliot, but it is nerve-wracking, knowing that Eliot wants him but not sure if that means he will want him _now_ and _like this_. Eliot had agreed to take it slow, but how slow is slow? And is he only trying to justify this right now because he's horny?

"You're thinking too loud," Eliot says, and Quentin's eyes pop open to find Eliot staring back affectionately.

Quentin grabs at the comforter, holding it tight. It's definitely chillier now, all that stored-up heat from the early morning long since dissipated. "Sorry," he says, voice rough with sleep. He clears his throat. "Did I wake you?"

"No, my aching gums did, otherwise I'd already be kissing you."

Quentin smiles. At least he's not alone in that. He reaches a hand out of the covers to skim his fingers over Eliot's neck. "Can I…? Your mark is almost completely faded."

"Mm, please," Eliot says, turning his head in toward the pillow to leave his neck more exposed.

Quentin props himself up and leans in, biting and sucking over the previous mark to deepen it. Eliot's moans, muffled but right against his ear, do nothing to diminish his already-distracting erection. But then Eliot's hips shift a bit, and Quentin realizes he's not alone in that, either.

Quentin whines and pushes against him, feeling the heat of Eliot's cock against his leg. Eliot inhales sharply, his hand finding Quentin's hip under the covers. " _Oh_ , you feel so good, Q," Eliot murmurs, rubbing up against him in return. Quentin gasps and clings to him.

"Can we…?" He pauses and licks his lips, working out his thoughts. "I want to see you, but it's so fucking cold."

"Hmm," Eliot says, brushing his lips against Quentin's. "We could take a shower together."

"Oh, _fuck yes_ ," Quentin says. Still, even with that plan in place, they take a while to leave the bed and each other's embrace. The little spikes of friction are not enough, not really, but something in Quentin is going wild at the reality of Eliot _in his bed_ , all turned on _because of him_.

Eliot leaves the bed first, and Quentin doesn't even pretend not to stare at the curve of his dick inside his briefs. Fuck, Eliot is even bigger than he'd imagined, and he's imagined _a lot_. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. I'm not doing all the work," Eliot says, then slips out of the room.

Quentin adjusts himself before leaving the bed, his heart racing so fast that he can almost ignore the sharpness of the cold. He bypasses Eliot's room, where he seems to be looking for something, and goes straight to their bathroom, turning the nozzle straight over to hot. He steps back before the cold spray can do more than glance off his arm, already shivering.

When he turns around, he spots Eliot checking out his ass unabashedly, now wearing an open robe and nothing else. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the sight of him, his dick only half-hard and already making Quentin's mouth water.

Eliot steps up to him, his look heated, and brings his hands up to Quentin's hips, thumbing at the band of his boxers. "Think we can lose these?"

Quentin nods, not trusting his voice. Eliot's smile shows teeth as he kneels down, pulling Quentin's boxers with him to the floor. Quentin swallows thickly at the sight of Eliot on his knees before him, so close to his very eager cock. Eliot takes him in hand, far too gentle to be satisfying, but he groans anyway. Eliot presses forward, so close Quentin can feel his breath ghost over the head of his cock, and touches his tongue tentatively just below the crown. Quentin whines and puts his hands on Eliot's shoulders. "El, you can't."

Eliot ignores him, sliding his tongue around the head, up over the slit, while Quentin grips at his shoulders. But then he backs off, flowing back up to a standing position, pulling Quentin flush with his body and wrapping him inside his robe. "Just getting a sample of what's to come."

Quentin snickers at that— _what's to come_ —and leans against Eliot's chest. Through the scattered beats of his heart, even while he is _so very turned on_ , he still feels doubt creeping into his mind. He takes a deep breath and asks, "Is this too soon?"

Eliot laughs, and Quentin can feel the rumble of it in his chest. "You must not have been having the same week I've had. For me, it's not soon enough."

"I know, I mean, me too, but, um. We've got, like, a full year left on our lease. What if things don't work out?"

When he tilts his head up to look at Eliot, he finds him looking pensive. "I know it probably seems like, guaranteed that I'm gonna fuck it up, but—" he clears his throat, "I'm gonna do everything in my power _not_ to, this time."

"No, I don't think you're gonna fuck it up," Quentin says urgently. "That's not what I mean. I'm just—sometimes things don't work out, is all. I don't want to lose you just because we went too fast."

Eliot laughs breezily and tilts his forehead against Quentin's. "That's definitely not going to happen."

Quentin closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment. "God, I wish I could kiss you."

"Me too. Fucking surgery." He contradicts himself in the next moment, leaning down to nip at Quentin's lower lip, swiping his tongue over it before letting it go. It's not fair, that Quentin doesn't feel confident kissing back like that, for fear of hurting Eliot while he's healing.

Steam is starting to billow forth from the shower, the room already feeling nice and humid. Eliot drops his robe, but lets Quentin go in first. It's almost too much at first, stepping into the hot spray, but then his body adjusts and it feels heavenly. Eliot is a vision, entering the shower, steam framing him beautifully as Quentin takes him in, from his curls framing his face, down the hard lines of his throat—complete with Quentin's new mark, which makes his breath catch—across his chest with its thick, dark hair, to the V of his hips, accentuating his full, thick cock, and finally down the long expanse of his legs. Quentin is out of his depth, caught in the hungry gaze of this gorgeous man. And, _god_ , his long fingers, always so adept, going straight to Quentin's hips as they move into the spray together, fitting around him to almost encircle him completely. Eliot has barely touched him and already he's so turned on he could scream.

"You're beautiful," Eliot says, water cascading from his hair, over his chest, highlighting his best features as it falls. Quentin almost laughs to hear that coming from Eliot. Under the water, with his hair plastered to his head, he imagines he looks like a drowned rat. But the look on Eliot's face says he thinks anything but that; he means what he says, and Quentin's chest tightens to be looked at like that.

"I want you," Quentin says, pressing his thumbs into the V of Eliot's hips and glancing up at him for permission.

"Touch me," Eliot says, granting it.

Quentin wraps a hand firmly around his cock, marvelling at the fullness of it. He strokes it slowly, eyes flicking up to Eliot's face, where he's biting his lip and looking inordinately pleased already. A stream of water falls from Quentin's hair directly over his slit, making him hiss with pleasure and buck into Quentin's hand. "I need—" Quentin says, cutting himself off and reaching for his bottle of conditioner.

"Look at you, so prepared," Eliot says as Quentin squeezes conditioner into his palm.

"This isn't my first shower handjob," Quentin says, pleased when Eliot's eyebrows shoot up. "Just maybe the first one with another person." Even Eliot's bark of a laugh goes straight to Quentin's dick. He smears the conditioner across his hands before taking Eliot in hand again. "I've had several months of sexual frustration in this apartment to work out in here."

" _Fuck_ , that's hot," Eliot says. Quentin thinks he probably just means the slick slide of his hand over his cock, but then he continues, "You were in here, thinking of me? Gripping that hard, beautiful cock with me in the bedroom across the hall, torturously unaware?"

His hand finds Quentin's dick in the spray, and Quentin gasps as his fingers wrap around it. "Y-yes, _fuck_. Usually in here, sometimes in my room, if you were playing music or watching TV. But it was never— _god_ , never this good."

"We have so much time to make up for," Eliot says, his other hand sliding past Quentin's hip to palm over his ass, pulling him closer so that their cocks nudge together. Quentin loosens his hold to grab for his own cock, Eliot following his lead and bringing them flush with each other. Quentin's not surprised, but definitely turned on by the fact that Eliot can fully grip them both in one hand.

" _Oh fuck that's good_ ," Quentin says, tilting his head back in the spray and pushing his hips forward. "I want you to finger me next time. I've had so many fantasies about your hands."

Eliot's grip falters for a second as he utters a breathy _ahh_. "You— you can't just _say_ things like that, Q. _Fuck_. Not if you want me to last more than another five seconds."

Quentin reaches for the conditioner, adding more slickness to his own cock and joining with Eliot's grip. "I want to see you come," he says, losing himself in the heat of their hands and the glorious, heated water.

Eliot's hands are so much better than he imagined. He knows what he's doing, not that Quentin is surprised. He shifts his grip to twist under their tips and reaches down with his other hand to fondle Quentin's balls. Quentin keens and rocks into his touch, little sparks of pleasure shooting through him. "Mm," Eliot purrs into his ear, "you look so good, all turned on for me."

"You're _so good_ ," Quentin breathes out, past the point of teasing.

"Yeah? Want me to get you off?"

Quentin whines, " _Please_ ," and Eliot moans.

"Sometime soon I'm gonna take my time with you. _Really_ make you beg."

Quentin can hardly fathom being more turned on than this, but if anyone can do it, it's Eliot. For now, he takes their cocks in both hands, stroking them fast and rough, just like Quentin likes but _better_ for the little grunts of pleasure coming from Eliot at the same time. At some point, without realizing it, Quentin starts muttering a soft, " _yeah, yeah_ ," as he gets close, and switches to a long, drawn-out " _oh_ " as Eliot pulls him over the edge.

" _God_ , I love the sound of you," Eliot says, slowing his movements over Quentin's cock as he seems to come for ages. "Can't believe you've been hiding these noises while I've played my _music_ , _god._ "

"I'm not normally this loud… when you're home," Quentin admits, thrilling at the look of arousal this seems to draw from Eliot. "Let me," he says, reaching for Eliot's dick with both hands. If Eliot likes the sound of him, he can definitely work with that. While he strokes him, he says, "I'm gonna suck you off next time. See how much of you I can take. Probably not all of you, not the first time, but I bet if I work at it I can get there." Eliot is highly responsive to that, tilting his head back to moan and his cock pulsing in Quentin's hands. Quentin firms his grip and works him faster as he continues, "I bet you'd love that, yeah? Fucking into my mouth, filling me up? _Fuck_ , I know I would. Taking every last inch. I haven't sucked cock in so long, but you make me miss it."

" _Q_ ," Eliot gasps out, and it transforms into one long moan as Eliot spills over his fist. "Jesus," Eliot says while Quentin works him through it. He touches two fingers to Quentin's bottom lip, pupils blown wide as he watches Quentin pull them inside his mouth and suck on them intently. "All this time, wanting you, I never knew you'd be like _this_. I don't know if I can handle you."

Quentin laughs, recognizing the compliment for what it is. He lets Eliot's fingers slide out of his mouth as he responds, "You can and you will." He tilts his head up, closing his eyes and waiting for Eliot to kiss him. He does, swiping their mouths together, his lips parting to dart his tongue out. Quentin meets him in the middle, their tongues sliding together softly before they pull away, not wanting to tempt fate—or Eliot's stitches.

The water at Quentin's back suddenly turns tepid, and when he twists to turn the knob, he finds it as far toward 'hot' as it will go. "Fuck. Let's get out of here before the water gets cold."

While they dry off, a little chilly but still comfortable in the humidity of the bathroom, Eliot points out, "It's gonna be miserable once we open that door."

Quentin squeezes his hair with a towel, trying to wring out as much moisture as he can. "Race you back to bed?"

Eliot smirks. "Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [mixtapestar](https://mixtapestar.tumblr.com). Comments are love! <3


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